


Three's The Right Kind of Crowd

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos sets aside his personal feelings to get Athos and Aramis together, trying to bury his jealousy in his own relationship.  Except, he's about to find out that he's not the only one experiencing a touch of envy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's The Right Kind of Crowd

Aramis is beginning to think that his life has become a very particular brand of ungodly torture.

After all, there’s no other good explanation for why he’s in a dark bar, watching one of his two best friends try and drink the bartender under the table while being forced to watch how painfully good looking he is in that awful light. In the dim and grim light, Athos’ blue eyes sparkle with daring and mischief as he tries to get the bartender to give them free drinks. It’s a tactic he often takes using his unfortunately high alcohol tolerance and unfortunately for Aramis, it’s one he does quite fetchingly.

His loose brown hair (usually kept so neat and coiffed) has fallen into lanky, silky disarray in such an artful arrangement that Aramis longs to touch it. His skin, while pale, seems to gleam in the terrible lighting, and that mischief in his beautiful blue eyes is just unfair.

“You know,” Porthos sighs out from beside him, nursing his beer, “I’m starting to feel neglected. If you want in his trousers so badly, why don’t you ask him?”

They were inseparable, the three of them, and had been since they’d met as unruly teenagers in an after-school fencing program. Now, ten years later, Aramis is slowly discovering that nursing a crush on one of your best friends is the worst torture in the world, especially when Athos is wearing such painted-on blue jeans. Besides, given the fact that Aramis’ crush on Porthos has long gone unrequited, he thinks himself in one of Dante’s levels of hell to find himself stumbling head over heels for Athos, too. He finally tears his attention away from Athos and glances at Porthos, frowning when he takes in his other best friend for the first time all evening.

“Why are you all fancy?” Aramis asks, taking in the extra attention Porthos has paid to his curly hair and the eyeliner winged on his eyes. Along with the snug red shirt, he looks ready to pull. “Did I miss an occasion?”

“Maybe I’m just ready for a fuck,” Porthos points out. “Or maybe I’m just tired of all the relentless unresolved sexual tension coming from the both of you and I’m ready to do something about it.”

“Both of us?” Aramis echoes, eyes widening. “Porthos, what do you know?” he hisses, grasping at his friend’s lapels to haul him dramatically closer, mainly because he has been drinking and he lacks a great deal of decorum when he’s had a touch too much wine.

“You stare at his arse, he stares at yours, you both stare at each other like lovelorn students, you both are desperately deprived of physical affectionate contact, and I’m tired of being in the middle of it,” Porthos says, with something in his voice that sounds half like bitterness and pain, but Aramis is hardly paying attention to it. “He might be slightly more dignified about it than you, but it’s still a pain in my arse.”

Aramis isn’t a very good friend when he’s head over heels in love, which means that despite Porthos’ clear emotional distress over the situation, he looks right past it to the words. He never has been very good at friendship when there’s something he wants on the line and it’s something he ought to be more apologetic for, but apologizing for his poor behaviour is not something he does often and is thus, yet another of his bad habits.

“Looks like he won,” Porthos murmurs into Aramis’ ear, his voice rumbling and deep, his breath hot as it tickles small hairs on Aramis’ neck. He closes his eyes and shivers before opening them in time to see Athos presenting his victorious tray of rewards – unfortunately for Aramis, they are tequila shots. “Mate,” Porthos drawls. “No.”

“Yes,” Athos replies firmly.

“You and lover-boy here share,” Porthos says. “I’m gonna go see if I can’t find someone on the dance floor who isn’t so frustrating. Besides,” he adds with a smirk. “I love this song.” He slides away from where Aramis is now caught staring between Porthos’ gorgeous biceps in that shirt and the way Athos’ smile curls up like a warm drink on a cold day.

He sighs as he watches Porthos disappear into the crowd of good-looking people, paying attention to his other unrequited crush and best friend as he takes hold of the drink.

“What’s his problem?” Athos wonders. “And what does he mean, ‘lover boy’?”

“You know Porthos,” Aramis replies, choosing to ignore Athos in order to watch Porthos work his magic on the dance floor. Usually by now, a lovely slip of a beautiful girl has fallen prey to his charms and he’s begun his night-long campaign to win her back to his place. He’s lost Porthos in the crowd, though, forcing him to pay attention to Athos, instead. He’s been trying to avoid this, not sure he wants to glance at Athos and see understanding in his eyes.

His crush on Athos has been one of his best kept secret for a very long time, especially since he’s let it spill (while drunk) how much he fancies Porthos’ arse and how badly he wants to hold it. At least, he’d confessed that one to Athos, not to Porthos.

“I do,” Athos concurs. “I know him to be resoundingly honest and not to beat around the bush. What did he mean?” 

Aramis grins ruefully as he plucks a shot glass from off the tray, letting it linger against his lips as he stares at Athos. He knows better than to think he’s going to get away with telling more lies and really, it’s long past time for this. Porthos is likely going to knock their heads together if Aramis doesn’t do something about this.

“I think he’s grown impatient with the fact that I’m rather head over heels for you,” Aramis says, the burn of his drink coaxing the words out as if alcoholic courage is just about the only thing that’s allowing him to be so honest.

Right. Now to look at Athos and face the music. He doesn’t think he’d lose the man’s friendship, but he could be in for a few weeks of endless teasing and poking at his feelings and it might be yet another unrequited crush to add to the pile on top of the one he’s long since accepted in regards to Porthos. Instead of finding any sort of scorn, though, there’s the loveliest of smiles adorning Athos’ lips that fills Aramis with hope.

“Is that all?” Athos asks. “And here I thought maybe you were going to make a surprising confession like you did something unspeakable to the neighbour’s cat, rather than one that’s felt mutually.”

“Really?” is all Aramis has to wonder, because if he’d known all it would take to cut through the space between them was Porthos’ foot in his mouth, he would’ve asked his friend to be offensively blunt a lot earlier. Aramis drifts into Athos’ space, his fingers on the shot glass that’s been neglected what with Porthos abandoning them to the dance floor. “And how long has your desperate crush on me been going on?”

“How is it that your feelings for me have turned into my having a desperate level of affection for you?” Athos deadpans.

“Talent.”

Athos shakes his head, seemingly amused by Aramis’ coy way with words. It’s certainly going well, thinks Aramis, and as he turns to search through the crowd, he still can’t find Porthos, but he’s grasped by the very cleverest of ideas.

“We should go out,” he says, suddenly, before his genius can leave him. 

“We are out, Aramis.”

“We should go out on a date together,” Aramis clarifies, because he and Athos could do this painful dance around each other for far too long, if allowed. He occupies Athos’ space a little tighter, letting his fingers idly toy with Athos’ hair, staring at his eyes and wondering if he’s ever honestly seen eyes that blue before in his life. “You and I, a romantic restaurant, and good wine to keep you from complaining. What do you say?”

“You’re not going to give up on me if I say no, are you?”

Aramis cocks his head to the side, as if asking Athos whether he’s ever known Aramis to give up the prize when it’s in his sights.

“Lucky I like that stubborn part of you,” Athos replies warmly. “Now, where is Porthos? I would have thought he would want to be close by to celebrate his friends getting his act together.”

“He headed out onto the dance floor,” Aramis says, trying to search for him and failing yet again. In the face of such a failure, he turns his attention to Athos instead, tangling up his fingers in Athos’ shirt to haul him in closer. “Dance with me?”

“I don’t like you that much. In fact, I’m not sure I like anyone enough to dance with them. Drink with me?”

Aramis shrugs when his plans are set to something new. “Well,” he says, not finding the notion of drinking a particularly hard one at all. “If you insist!” He’ll catch up with Porthos later and tell him all about it, if he ever finds the man. Maybe Porthos has made good on his threat and gone out to find someone to fuck.

And maybe Aramis shouldn’t fixate on the empty, roiling feeling that particular thought leaves in his stomach.

* * *

Porthos peers over the heads in the crowd, trying to make out whether Aramis and Athos have _finally_ managed to get over themselves and get around to it. Despite the fact that he’d spent a few months (years, really, if he’s truly honest) thinking that he had a thing for them, it got pretty obvious very quickly that neither of them had ever noticed Porthos like that. Aramis had flirted with him, sure, but Aramis had flirted with everyone, everything, and the neighbour’s cactus on top of it. He’d never come straight out and asked out Porthos, so he’d tried his best to put those feelings to bed. And Athos? Well, he’d never looked at Porthos twice in any way that hadn’t been pure friendship.

Rather than dwindle in the heartache, he’d picked himself up, dusted himself off, and moved right along. Better to be friends with the both of them than lose them all-together, even if he’s still trying to cover up for the fact that he wakes up every morning wanting and needing something he’s never going to get.

“What are you staring at?”

Porthos eases off his tiptoes and back to the dance floor, turning to find a honey-haired gorgeous man staring at him with a charming smile that could probably ease his trousers off, given enough time. He sidles a touch closer to him and gestures through the crowd to where Aramis has just stepped a little closer to Athos.

“Who are they?” the man asks.

“My friends. They’re finally getting around to hopefully fucking each other soon. Dating optional,” he jokes. He forces himself to look away from the happiness they’re finding, because taunting himself with what he can’t have won’t do him any good. Besides, the man beside him looks gorgeous in a way that he can appreciate plenty without mooning over his two best friends. “I’m Porthos,” he introduces himself. 

“Marsac,” is his new friend’s name. “Listen. Do you want to get a drink and dance? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you could use a distraction from your friends’ new happiness.”

Porthos knows that he needs to pull himself away from this because otherwise he’s going to end up sad and bitter and lonely while Athos and Aramis find their happy ending. He knows they’ll be good together. He’s practically recommending it, it’s just that he also knows if it happens, everything is going to change and it’s going to do so without him.

So why not change first and beat it to the punch?

“What sort of drink are you thinking?” he asks, turning his full attention to his brand new friend. 

“Shots have never failed me before,” Marsac says, in a tone so smooth and flirtatious that warning bells start to go off in Porthos’ head, but he’s never exactly been good at paying attention to them before. It’s not like he’s after a long term relationship with this man. He just needs something to distract him before he ends up sad and pathetic sitting alone while his best friends ride off into the sunset.

He’s just after a short-run thing, but that doesn’t stop old serial monogamy habits from kicking in. “I have a better idea,” Porthos suggests. “How about martinis and getting to know you before we head back to your place?”

Marsac shrugs, clearly none too picky about what happens, and nods. “Do you want me to wait outside while you tell your friends where you’re going?” he offers.

Porthos glances back to where Aramis is in Athos’ space and the two of them look perilously close to a first kiss. The stab of jealousy actually aches and Porthos has to force a smile onto his lips as he nudges his hand to Marsac’s arse to lead him towards the door of the club, wanting to make a quick escape before anyone notices that they’re missing. “Nah,” is all he says. “They’ll figure out I’m gone soon enough.”

At least, he has to hope they will. The thought that they won’t even notice is too depressing for him to even bear.

* * *

Aramis should really be paying more attention to his surroundings. They’re in a public place and he’s supposed to be keeping an eye out for Porthos so they can arrange to head back home at the same time, but that had been before Athos had coaxed him into a booth to drink and somehow, Aramis has ended up arranged in his lap, heart beating faster as they approach a heady milestone.

He’s inches away from a first kiss with Athos and the world has completely melted away. Athos’ fingers are curling soft touches against Aramis’ cheek and beard, Aramis’ legs in Athos’ lap, and the whiskey doing a wondrous job of easing all his nerves into non-existence. 

“Is everything going to be such a production with you?” Aramis wonders, his voice barely more than a pleading whimper for how he’s being denied. He licks his lips and stares at the softness of Athos’ lips, reaching out to touch them with his fingers. They’re immensely kissable and he knows that he wants nothing more than to taste them. “Athos,” he breathes out, barely able to eke more than that out as Athos tangles up his fingers in Aramis’ shirt to tug him closer.

He closes his eyes in eager anticipation and the hum of noise around them fades into nothing as Athos finally, _finally_ kisses him, causing Aramis to surge forward and wrap his arms around Athos’ neck, trying to haul himself as close in as he can.

He ends up in Athos’ lap, though with Athos rucking up his shirt and hair, it hardly seems like he minds. It’s a messy kiss, fuelled along by alcohol, but it leaves them both breathless and Aramis’ heart pounding out of his chest.

If he’d thought that finding requited feelings with Athos would temper his feelings, he’s dead wrong. They’ve only flared into something more intense and improbably wonderful.

He lets out a joyful laugh, easing back to catch Porthos’ gaze, eager to thank the man for his big mouth, but when he searches the club, he can’t find him. His happiness cedes to some frustration as he lets out a mild groan.

“That bad?” Athos deadpans.

“Where’s Porthos got off to?” Aramis demands, refusing to play into Athos’ little teasing show. “I haven’t seen him since he wandered off after dropping the emotional bomb.”

“He’s a grown man who can take care of himself. I’m sure he’ll text,” Athos promises. “Now,” he murmurs. “Are you going to sit there and worry about Porthos? Or can I kiss you again?”

Despite the fact that Aramis wants to say _both_ , he concedes to only the latter when he leans into the touch of Athos’ hand to his cheek, pure physical pleasure overwhelming concern for his other best friend at this exact moment.

Athos is right.

If something is the matter, Porthos will text.

* * *

It’s been one joyous week since the night of the club and Aramis has been in the midst of a cavalcade of epiphanies.

What Aramis has discovered is that kissing Athos is possibly one of the seven great wonders of the world that people have been missing out on. They’ve managed to make out in the backseat of Athos’ car, in dim movie theatres, and in the washroom at fancy restaurants during two of their dates. Now they’re adding the hallway outside of their apartment to the list, and Aramis is finding it just as daze-inducing as the rest. 

Athos has a way of drawing you in and making you feel completely and utterly alone in the world with him and only him; his kisses are focused and intent and so very good that they make Aramis’ knees weak with it.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathes out as he digs out his keys and lets them into the apartment, “cover your eyes!” is his playful warning.

Only, there’s no one here to tease because the lights are dimmed and there isn’t a sign that Porthos has even been home all day. _Oh_ , thinks Aramis, not having expected that. Porthos is always there for them. He’s always ready to listen about their day or to tease them about their new coupledom, even if there’s been a strained look on his face when he does it that Aramis can’t exactly place. This is a strange new development and he’s not sure he likes it.

It’s certainly enough to have killed the mood. Though Athos’ hands are still on Aramis’ waist, he feels a great rush go through him and he quickly names it as disappointment. 

“Did he text?” Athos asks, clearly understanding why they seem to have slowed down from their initial rampant stumble in the direction of the bedroom.

Aramis gives a hum as he digs out his phone and discovers that in the last hour, Porthos has texted him four times.

 **p-thos** :  
_gonna be out tonight_

_**p-thos** :  
maybe tomorrow morning too, might have to cancel brunch plans_

_**p-thos** :  
actually, get me omelets_

_**p-thos** :  
nm, marsac says he’ll make omelets and sex_

“He’s still seeing that man,” Aramis realizes, his nose scrunching up with distaste. It’s not that he thinks Porthos doesn’t deserve to be happy, but when he’d met Marsac, he didn’t like the way the man had flirted so incessantly with him and Athos both. Porthos deserves someone loyal and appreciative and it seems like all Marsac is in it for is the sex.

In all their friendship, Porthos has never sought out a relationship based purely on the physical.

He’s practically a serial monogamy freak. He has a special talent for meeting someone and nearly running away with them to elope a week later. Something turns in Aramis’ stomach as he wonders what must have changed so drastically for him to be seeking this out. And why does he care so much? He’s got Athos now, which means he’s got a proper boyfriend to worry about.

Then again, Aramis is beginning to realize that worrying about his boyfriend might not get them too far from this topic. Athos looks like he’s swallowed a bitter pill on top of a lemon on top of expired ale. He clearly doesn’t like the thought of Porthos with this man either.

Only, is it for the same reason as Aramis?

“Should I text him back?” Aramis suggests, trying to get a better look into Athos’ mind. “I’m sure if we told him he needed to come home, he would.” It would certainly interrupt whatever sex-date Porthos is on right now, though it might be a bit of a struggle to come up with a good excuse to get him back. He’s not sure why he so emphatically wants to break up Porthos’ date because he ought to be happy that Porthos has found someone.

Right?

“Who is this man?” Athos asks, his tone icier than Aramis is used to hearing. That’s a tone Athos usually reserves for clients who don’t pay attention to his advice and people who insult his friends. “This Marsac? And why hasn’t Porthos invited us to spend more time with them? He always tries to make us be best friends with the people he’s dating.” 

For that matter, why hasn’t Porthos been around? It’s as if suddenly now that Athos and Aramis are dating, Porthos has become a ghost, vanishing into thin air. He’s even changed his schedule so that he doesn’t have to end up being in the same place as the both of them for very long at all.

One week after his bliss has begun, Aramis begins to realize that his happiness has been causing Porthos a kind of misery. And now, forced to think about it, it makes Aramis upset to imagine a life without Porthos. “We can’t tell him who to date,” he points out.

Athos has a stubborn look in his eye that seems to scream ‘oh yes we can’. It’s a look that Aramis recognizes plenty and it soon swiftly hits him what he’s been missing all this time. He grabs at Athos’ shoulder and gives him a mild shove before hauling him back in for a victorious kiss to celebrate his deduction. 

“You like Porthos,” Aramis accuses, a wild and crazed look in his eye that he feels matches the mad patter of his frantically beating heart. “You like him the way you like me, only I got to you first.”

Athos opens his mouth as if he’s going to argue, but then he closes it like a mousetrap snapping shut, which means that Aramis has definitely caught him in a lie. He doesn’t know what to do with this information, but still feels incredibly gleeful about it, right up until he remembers that Porthos is still out having multiple-night-stands with some stranger.

“Oh,” he says out loud. “Well, this only solves half the problem.”

“You skipped the part where any of this works,” Athos points out, always the pedantic realist. It’s sweet, really, how Athos isn’t able to see the obvious part where they’re fine.

“You like Porthos,” Aramis repeats again, happy to say it out loud because it’s practically the best news since he’d first kissed Athos a week ago and discovered that it’s like having a choir of angels suddenly start singing in your ear. “And I very much like Porthos,” he promises, heart aching a touch to think of how earnestly he likes the man.

“And he’s dating some bloke who’s giving him omelets and orgasms,” Athos wryly deadpans.

“Yes, but I also make a mean waffle,” Aramis jokes, neglecting to be serious and point out that they’re Porthos’ best friends and that they would be able to make him happy in so many ways. Athos does have an unfortunate point in that there’s one very large obstacle in their way and his name is apparently Marsac. The trouble also being that Porthos currently seems to think that Aramis and Athos are both content and happy with their current situation and aren’t looking for anyone else.

Aramis rubs his hands up and down Athos’ hip, struggling to come up with something productive to offer, but unfortunately, his brain has stalled with thoughts of the three of them together, naked, in bed. They stand there, holding onto one another, neither of them suggesting a plan.

“Why didn’t you make a move on him?” Athos asks finally, when it seems like nothing else will come of the conversation but quiet fantasies.

“I don’t know,” Aramis confesses. “I suppose I never thought he was very interested in me. When we first met years and years ago, I used to flirt with him madly, but he never reciprocated, so I stopped trying. He dated other people and never looked at me the way I wanted him to. Then, around the time we all turned eighteen, I started to fall head over heels for you,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. I was still absolutely madly gone over Porthos, only I had started to become a realist about it. I’d never want to force him into something he didn’t want. Why didn’t you pursue him?”

“I hardly allowed myself to be with you,” Athos admits quietly. “I’m a mess and you both knew it. Only, you were so aggressive and insistent and beautiful that I grew too weak to ignore it any longer. It was easier to let slide when Porthos wasn’t forcing the issue. Besides, I’ve seen him look at you before, but I’m not sure I’ve seen those looks directed at me.”

“You’re mad, because he looks at you like you hung the moon. So,” Aramis says, once he’s cleared the air and made sure to put Athos to right. “What do we do now?”

“I suppose, if we were to look at this like any other situation not involving a relationship with us, neither of us would be willing to let Porthos just slip away from us.”

“Clearly not.”

“So we have to win him back,” Athos says matter-of-factly. “I seem to recall several of my former relationships that just so happened to start going awry when you became more of a presence in my life. Missed calls, cancelled dates, strange accidents. Surely it’s a coincidence that they began when you were around,” he notes with a stern glare in Aramis’ direction.

“Bad luck follows you around,” Aramis replies blithely. “That said, I do think you’re onto the right idea. Sabotage sounds perfect. You load up Facebook,” he says, a determined and (frankly) frightening look in Aramis’ eyes that has Athos entirely pleased that the man is on his side. “There’s no better place to start when looking for incriminating evidence than the repository of bad ideas and photos itself. I’ll start looking up ways to get your man.”

Only buoyed on by his determination to see Porthos out of his ridiculously athletic physical relationship, Athos reaches for his computer to do exactly that and _not_ just because Aramis has told him to. At least, that’s what the defiant glare on Athos’ face seems to scream.

They have a man to win back, though, and there’s no stop they shouldn’t be pulling out.

* * *

Something is going on.

Porthos is usually fairly happy to let Aramis and Athos do as they please. Allowing them their happiness together in a relationship despite his feelings for them is the best and biggest proof of that, but so is trying to be oblivious to whatever madness is currently happening. Every morning at breakfast, neither man will speak to him, but they clearly are communicating silently _about_ him. Then the conversation stops and Aramis and Athos take turns looking at Porthos in a way that he doesn’t recognize, but fills him with both anticipation and dread at once.

There’s also the fact that there are strangely hushed conversations happening behind closed doors when they suspect that he might be listening. There’s also the long, lingering looks, as if they’re worried Porthos is about to do something rash whenever he announces he’s going out.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d start worrying about an intervention suddenly popping up.

Eventually though, he starts to genuinely get worried about something bad happening. When he’s got Marsac over one night for a movie (and makeout session, if he’s honest), Aramis and Athos are at it again, whispering behind closed doors.

“I’m starting to think they’re going to kick me out,” Porthos admits out loud, not even aware he’d wanted to share this with a near-stranger until the words are out of his mouth. He glances to the closed door and wonders what’s happening behind it. Then he reminds himself that he’s not supposed to care, which means forcibly giving his attention back to the movie, shoving his hand into the popcorn with stubborn, stupid determination.

Marsac crawls into Porthos’ lap slowly, nabbing a kernel of popcorn from him before popping it in his mouth, the butter forming a sheen over his lips that looks imminently kissable. “If they do, your roommates are idiots.”

Something crashes in the bedroom, suddenly, and Porthos is on his feet before he knows it (pushing Marsac out of his lap). He manages to wince and offer an apology, but that’s about all he manages before he’s at Aramis’ door, knocking heavily. “Is everyone all right?”

“Porthos,” Aramis gasps as he opens the door, hair disheveled and eyes wide. He’s much, much too put upon and it brings to mind a very memorably awful summer in which a local casting director had let Aramis be Hamlet in the local theatre production. If Porthos weren’t so concerned, he’d see this as awful over-acting and melodrama, at that.

That said, the blood currently coming from Athos’ forehead doesn’t exactly look over-anything.

“Shit,” Porthos swears, heading to the bathroom to find some gauze and tape. He hears Aramis and Athos muttering behind him, but he’s too determined to help to pay much attention to what they’re saying. He makes a brief stop in the living room, clasping Marsac by the cheek as he eases in to kiss him. “Hey, can we take a rain cheque? I think I might be hospital chauffeur tonight and…”

“Yeah, of course,” Marsac agrees. “Call me after? Maybe we can still get together, make a mattress or two bounce.”

“Porthos!” Aramis calls sharply. 

Porthos shrugs apologetically and heads into the bedroom once Marsac has let himself out. He leans in to help tend to the wound, but Aramis yanks the supplies out of his hands before he can get too close to the wound (which looks suspiciously coagulated for a fresh head wound). Aramis dabs at it tenderly and it’s gone as soon as it had appeared.

It’s gone, and so is Marsac.

“What happened?” Porthos asks suspiciously. 

“It must have seemed more serious than it was,” Athos replies, but he’s throwing a dangerous glare at Aramis, as if he’s blaming him for something that Porthos doesn’t understand. Athos looks utterly fine, though, and when Porthos squints, it looks like there hadn’t even been a head wound in the first place.

“What is going on?” he demands again, offering a touch of his most dangerous growl to let the both of them know that he’s not playing around. He steps forward and dabs a bit of the remaining ‘blood’, lapping it on the tip of his tongue, which is the moment he finds out that it’s ketchup. “I thought we were done with idiotic pranks when we all got out of school?”

Aramis shares a guilty look with Athos, but neither of them look truly apologetic.

“Do you even care that you just chased my date out of here?”

“Is it that serious then?” Athos asks, taking a cloth to wipe away the remainder of the condiment from stray pieces of his hair. “They’re dates now, not just fuck-sessions?”

Aramis lets out a strangled laugh. “My god, if I ever thought I’d hear you say that, I would have bet on pigs flying.” He hasn’t looked away from Porthos, though; his attention completely on every single one of Porthos’ reactions. “Is he right? Are you serious about Marsac? Really, truly serious? Double-date serious?”

The reminder that the two of them are in a relationship makes Porthos flinch and he stares down at his hands. Marsac’s okay, but he’s not someone that Porthos can see himself dating long term and the core reason for that is sitting right in front of him. The only people he’s ever been able to imagine himself with on the long term are the ones sitting in front of him. Only, he can’t have them and so he’s doing his best to throw himself into a physical relationship to take his mind off of the truth.

He’s got two people he’s stupidly in love with and they’ve found each other. 

So instead of giving an actual response, he sort of shuts down and shrugs his shoulder. “Dunno,” is all he musters, which probably isn’t what they’re after.

“Porthos, why?” Aramis demands. “You deserve so much better than this. You’re not showing him off and you don’t talk about him like you did Alice or Flea.”

“You shouldn’t talk about what I deserve,” Porthos says, staring at his hands folded together tightly. 

He keeps his focus there because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might snap and say something that he regrets. It’s because he’s so focused on his hands that his thoughts are allowed to catch up to him. He starts to think about his two best friends suddenly interrupting a date with the most ridiculous, inane excuse of all time. He thinks of how they look dour and irritated whenever he brings up Marsac. He thinks of those long, lingering looks and starts to suspect what’s going on.

Porthos shakes his head, scoffing. “Just because you two are finally happy and have someone to care about doesn’t mean you should be sabotaging me like this. All because, why? You don’t like him? I’m _lonely_ and I’m tired of it. Maybe it’s not something now, but it could be.”

“That’s the problem,” Athos says calmly, when Porthos is done with his sudden burst of passion. 

“Come again?” Porthos asks warily.

Athos seems to need to glance at Aramis and confirm something. Right in front of him, the two have a lengthy and very infuriating silent conversation that Porthos wants to interrupt, but that would require him knowing what the hell they’re talking about. Only, then the conversation seems to end, because Aramis shrugs and gestures for Athos to speak.

“You’re both starting to worry me. What’s your problem with me going and finding someone to be happy with?”

“Well, that’s exactly it. You’re finding someone else,” Athos says.

“As opposed to being alone forever?” Porthos challenges. “Don’t be that kind of an arse, Athos.”

“He’s bad at explaining,” Aramis says, cutting in between the both of them. “What he is _trying_ to say is that we don’t want you to go outside these four walls to find someone else, Porthos. We want you to find happiness with the people right here with you.” 

Aramis’ warm smile and Athos’ expectant gaze are right there in front of him, but Porthos is still trying to process what they’ve said. It sounds too much like what he’s heard in his dreams, which clearly means it can’t actually be happening. This is probably just some scheme to get him away from Marsac because they don’t approve of him, is all.

Except, they both really do look fairly earnest and serious.

“You’ve got each other,” he says, not wanting to doom his chances, but feeling inclined to point out the obvious.

“When have we ever done something that wasn’t all three of us together?” Athos challenges that immediately. “Porthos,” he says gently. “I didn’t ever try because I thought I was a mess, but it never occurred to me that you’d still potentially find someone that loved you the way you deserved and I’d miss my chance.”

“And I just thought you weren’t interested in me, but clearly you like attractive, charming men, so I thought now’s as good a time as any to throw my hat into the ring,” Aramis adds.

It’s still not really working out in his head. It still seems too good to be true.

“You both want me?” he says, trying to accept that truth in his heart. And slowly, slowly, it works its way through his mind until he starts to pick out small instances of flirtations and looks and all the things he’d been ignoring because to pay attention meant potential heartbreak. As these thoughts slowly settle into place, his face begins to light up with an earnest, hopeful, eager smile.

It seems to do the trick, because Aramis beams right back at him.

“We’re not happy until you’re with us, too,” Athos says firmly. “That’s that.”

“So, will you? Be with us?”

“Promise me omelets?”

“All the omelets you can eat,” Aramis agrees. “And plenty of sex.”

Porthos pretends to need some time to think about it, smirking before he shrugs his shoulder and yanks Aramis a little closer to him, pulling Athos in with the other arm. “Oh, what the hell? I’m only head over heels for the both of you. What’s the worst that could come of this?”

* * *

“He’s gorgeous,” Aramis indicates to the young bloke who’s just entered the bar. “I mean, the hair’s a touch long, but the arse is incredible and the face isn’t so bad either.”

Porthos and Athos exchange a look from where they’re sitting at the bar, paying for their drinks. Aramis seems to be taking the job of commentator of the local talent to heart, as if he’s looking for a fourth in the relationship when three has been working so well and balancing with ease.

“Whatever happened to Marsac?” Athos asks Porthos, when Aramis seems to still be drooling over his new young jailbait. 

“Moved on pretty quickly once I told him I was going to try things out with the both of you,” Porthos says, shrugging his shoulders. He’s trying not to let it sting, but it had only been sex. He shouldn’t have been so surprised that he’d been replaced so quickly, though his successor had been a downgrade (which Aramis had agreed with, postulating that everyone was a downgrade from Porthos). “Why? Did you want a foursome? I’m sure he’d be willing if I called him up.”

The dark look on Athos’ face is confirmation that it’s the very last thing he wants.

“Don’t look now, Porthos, but an extremely foppish and attractive young man just walked in. That’s your type, right?” Aramis teases.

“Actually, I sort of prefer loudmouth charming idiots and their pleasantly wine-tinged surly friends,” he deadpans, knowing that they only tease him out of love. It’s been a month since they started on this endeavor and while there have been growing pains, they’re the sort that make Porthos know he’s made the right decision.

He only falls more and more in love with the quirks and idiosyncrasies and the joys and the pains.

He’s with his best friends in the whole damn world. How couldn’t he be ecstatic?

“And to think, all this time, I just needed to flaunt a sexual relationship that had no meaning in front of the both of you,” he marvels, shaking his head. “I’d have flaunted my less meaningful relationships in front of you a lot sooner, if I’d known that was the case. I mean, the stories about Charon and I alone…”

“Aramis, shut him up,” Athos says calmly.

“With pleasure,” Aramis says, his grin wicked as he leans in to pin Porthos to the bar and proceed to kiss him until he hasn’t got a single story about an ex on his tongue (or even left in his brain, he thinks). 

Porthos is happy to confess to himself that he’s more than ready to earn kisses like that for the rest of his life and that he’s got more than enough plans to make sure he keeps on getting them – and if he’s got a minor bout of jealousy to thank for it, he can’t really find it in him to mind at all.


End file.
